Snaga
by Alex Hollister
Summary: Orc Pegrun finds one of the 7 dwarf rings and gets a single chance from Galadriel to help Middle-Earth; by feeding the ring to one of the only dragons left. But that means a jaunt to Mordor with a highly-allergic she-Haradrim, a bookish hobbit, and a kleptomaniacal dwarf and maladjusted elf who both plan to kill him when its over. T for some necessary orc-slicing. June TA 3018.
1. The Life of an Orc in General

**Book I**

How He Left Mordor

Chapter One

The Life of an Orc in General

In a hole in the ground there lived an orc. Not a nice, clean, dry hole, filled with cupboards of food and a bacon-y smell, nor yet a comfortable, crowded, warm hole with everything in it you could ever dream of sitting on or eating. It was an orc-hole, and that means the-best-he-could-get-which-still-wasn't-much.

It wasn't hardly anything, really; but orcs by nature don't tend to _expect_ much. I mean, being an orc is being an orc, if you know what I'm trying to get at, and for Pegrun, for that was our orc's name, the hole he had wasn't all that terrible. It was really a cave in the side of a mountain, in the dark and dismal domain of Mordor, just in the shadow of Mount Doom. It was wet, let's say that, for the shower wasn't properly drained, but that was by far the worst thing about it. Anyway, he had a dry bed with a blanket and a hook to hang his armour on and a view from the front door, so what more could he ask for?

It was only one cave of many in that part of the mountain. On the threshold of his hole lay the smoking camp of Dwardof, one of the Dark Lord's many labour camps, where they were busy making siege equipment at double-speed. The orcs who worked there lived in the caves, and since there were many orcs each cave was rather crowded. Pegrun shared his with four others, and being the smallest of all of them had the least space to himself. But in a way he didn't mind this, for when the great, hulking overseer came by to inspect, it was always Kyrnakh or Dron who got kicked.

He was wrinkling his nose in the doorway one particular morning and wondering about the weather and if there would be enough dinner to go around that day and if his quota had doubled again like it seemed to every morning, and why on earth Defmog had to sing so very loudly when he was in the shower, when Dron, who had been up extra early to see the overseer, clambered up to the cave and snarled a pleasant 'good morning.'

'Defmog still in?' he demanded. 'He's using up the hot water ration again! Now listen up, the lot of you. Quota increase today, the chief says.'

Gwigolla jumped out of her barrel, tossing away the sheets and grumbled for effect. (Gwigolla was fond of barrels.) Neither Kyrnakh nor Pegrun bothered to gripe because they had both expected this, but Gwigolla was that sort of person – that is, orc.

'Shut up,' said Dron, sympathetically. 'One other thing and listen sharp because I an't going to repeat it. They're moving a lot of us out of here soon, and anyone who isn't caught up with his quota won't be taken. So catch up. Peg, that means you.'

'Battle?' asked Gwigolla, listening quite sharply. 'Battle, eh? Eh?'

'Like as not,' said Dron. 'All he said is a lot of us are moving. Def, come out of there, you lout, or I'll stick you like a pig.'

'Who wants battle?' asked Kyrnakh. 'It's all marching at quick time and who knows how far? Rohan, perhaps, or worse.'

'You have no guts,' said Gwigolla. 'Without obstacles, I could make Rohan in two days, allowing stops for meals.'

'Well, that's nothing,' said Kyrnakh. 'I could do it in one and a half. But that's just the thing. There will be obstacles. First of all, aren't you forgetting the Mountains? And after that there will be armies.'

'Which means battle!' cried Gwigolla. 'Battle, which means action, and food. Meat, too, not watery porridge.'

She had just found breakfast on the table and gazed at it with distaste. But she ate it anyway. She ate Peg's ration, too.

'Meat, meat, meat,' she blubbered to herself, until Kyrnakh hit her over the head and suppressed her.

Defmog slunk into the main part of the cave buckling his belt and still singing.

'Aaah, ya ya yaah! Ya ya yaah, yaah, ya-yah!'1

He had learned that very recently and was still trying to cement the words in his mind. He had a very fine baritone, though he couldn't carry a tune in a wheelbarrow, let alone a bucket.

'The call will sound in a couple of minutes,' said Dron, cuffing him because he was at hand. 'So don't waste time. And Peg!' He slapped his forehead. 'I nearly forgot. The overseer wants to see you.'

Peg looked up in shock.

'Me?' he demanded. 'What for?'

'Don't ask me,' said Dron. 'I assume he wants you to run something. Get a move on.'

Peg already had both legs over the cliff-face. Their cave was some ten metres above the camp on a sheer rock-face. It was an easy climb down when you had done it every day for the past three months, as Peg had. And one couldn't always expect to get ground-level lodging. Not when one was as small as Pegrun son of Nobody-Knew-Who.

He clamped his helmet on his head, scrambled over the edge, and skittered down the rough black rock. Below him stretched the parched brown land of Mordor, above him towered the dark Ash Mountains. The sky was black, as always. To the south towered Barad-Dûr, menacing and eternal in its dark watchfulness. Peg ignored it. The Eye was always watching, but the Eye didn't care about a small orc like him, and he didn't care about It very much, either.

He tumbled the last twelve feet to the ground and stood up, dusting himself off and looking around for the overseer.

The overseer was a brute. Half-man and half-orc, they said he was, and the worst of both worlds. Far too tall for any respectable orc, Pulrat was strong, violent, and utterly rude. Peg disliked him. But he was in charge.

He was coming up the road that very moment, knocking about the few, very unwise orcs who got in his way while he was on inspection. Peg wrinkled his nose, twisted his helmet more firmly over his ears, and stood his ground.

Pulrat drew near and for a moment didn't recognise the small orc at his feet. He lifted an idle hand to swipe him out of the way, but then paused.

'Pegrun?' he snarled.

Pegrun snorted affirmatively.

'You're to run something to the Tower.'

He shuffled in his various pockets and finally pulled out a rolled parchment.

'A messenger brought it,' he said. 'But Shelob got him on the way back and he's lying down there in a certain state of immobility. So you take it to Barad-Dûr and leg it quick, do you hear?'

And to make sure that Peg had heard, he gave him a thump on the side of the helmet that tumbled the small orc over three times.

'Get a move on, snaga,' he said, and Peg obediently loped southwards to the Dark Tower.

In fifteen minutes he had left the camp of Dwardof behind him, though when he looked briefly over his shoulder he could see the smoke still rising up in pillars towards the black clouds overheard.

There was no question in his mind over why he had been sent. He was the best runner in Dwardof – small but terribly fast and very straight-forward. Send him, and he would get there. He chuckled to himself as he clutched the roll of paper against his chest and trotted. Gwigolla talked of two days to Rohan! Kyrnakh thought he could do it in one and a half! Peg calculated the distance in his head and did some complicated arithmetic. He could do it in seven hours, eighteen minutes and twenty-one seconds, starting from his cave and ending up on the very border. He wondered if Gwigolla and Kyrnakh really even knew where Rohan was.

Peg knew, because Peg hadn't been sitting about all his life making siege towers. He was a runner almost from birth, and that was what he did best. They had used him as a guide, as a scout, and it was only recently that they had decided these confounded Uruk-hai were better than he was and set him down to make things. Make things? He was far better at breaking and taking them.

He had been over much of Middle-Earth, he had even been past the Misty Mountains, and he knew someday he would see more of it. Someday when he had retired and had a comfortable pension, he would head northeast towards Rhûn and then wind his way towards Erebor and then over to Rivendell, of which he had heard so much, and do a full circle round that far-away place they called the Shire. Then he'd come home by way of Gondor and see what was going on there, and do the whole thing over a couple more times.

He would see other races. He would find out what men were up to and learn a little more about elves, and he'd find out if these hobbit creatures really existed or if they were just dwarves who couldn't grow beards.

And more than that, he'd do Things. He'd find a magic sword or two, maybe come across a dragon and chase it away from a harassed town, and the people would be forever grateful. He'd find a giant treasure and cart it off in buckets. He'd save a country or two from some great peril and then finally, when he was ready, he would settle down and find a nice hole to live alone in. Alone.

He hurtled over a rock and hummed to himself the song Defmog had gotten stuck in his head.

'Ye ye ye ye ye, ye ye ye, ye ye ye, oh ho ho ho ho!'

He drew closer to the Dark Tower, going at a steady pace.

1 Defmog was presumably making an attempt at _Trololo,_ a popular song in Middle-Earth at the time. The song became No. 1 in both Black and Common Speech and went platinum when Saruman the White released his cover of it on the album by the same title. Though no official copies remain, the album was said to have also included the hit _One to Rule Them All_ and an original rap single _Taking the Hobbits to Isengard_, the latter of which became almost as popular as _Trololo_ when later covered by the elf Legolas.


	2. What He Found in Barad-Dur

Chapter Two

What He Did in Barad-Dûr

You could not fit a picture of Barad-Dûr on a postcard unless you were several miles away from it. Up close, you couldn't see the top of it unless you practically lay on your back. Especially if you were scarcely three feet high, like Peg. But Peg, when he reached the Tower half an hour later, wasn't concerned with the view. He was there simply to deliver something. As he trotted up to the gate he smoothed down his clothes and made sure he looked sufficiently spiffy for the guards of the Fortress.

Then he knocked.

A window high in the iron gate screeched open and the large face of a troll looked down. He roared at Peg and, putting his shoulder to the heavy door, swung it just open enough for Peg to get in. This was about six inches. Peg looked rather round and stout at first appearances, but that was because he walked, like all orcs, hunched over. When he stretched out, he was all sinew.

There was an Uruk-hai standing within, between the troll's legs. He scowled at Peg and cuffed him.

'What do you want?' he demanded. But of course he knew he brought a message. Small orcs like Peg didn't come to the Dark Tower on their own volition, just to look around.

Peg held out the parchment.

'For Lord Sauron?' asked the Uruk-hai.

Peg shrugged.

'Take it up to the Mouth,' said the other, and turned him towards the stairway. 'First door at the top of the stairs. NOT the second. That'll take you to the Eye.'

'I want the Mouth?' asked Peg.

'You want the Mouth, replied the Uruk. He kicked him. 'Now move!'

Peg had gotten a good start from the Uruk-hai's encouraging nudge. He was already trotting up the stairs.

Up and up he went. A hundred storeys, two hundred storeys, three hundred storeys, and suddenly –

There Was A Door.

Peg looked at it. It was a heavy iron door like the one down at the bottom of the Tower, but not as large. On it was painted a red eye, like Peg carried on his shield. And all of a sudden he wondered why the Uruk had made him bring up the paper and had refused to come up himself. Perhaps he was guarding the gate. Yes, that was it.

Peg laid both hands on the door and shoved.

It swung slowly open.

The room was very dark, but there was a red light from a lamp on a table from the far end. It emitted a faint glow, and in this glow sat a dark figure. It was the Mouth, and he was singing quietly to himself.

'Nah-nah-nah-nun, nun-ah-nah, nun-ah-nah, nah-nah-nah-nah-nah!'

He stopped suddenly.

'Who enters the chamber of the Mouth of Sauron?' he asked, calmly, as Peg stepped in. He was eating his breakfast, but he drew his sleeve over his Mouth and eyed Peg.

Presumably. Since one could never see his eyes for the helmet he wore, one never knew where he was looking, or if he was looking at all.

Peg sniffed. Breakfast smelled good, and all of a sudden he remembered that he hadn't had any. His stomach growled.

The Mouth of Sauron grinned.

'Breathe deeply, slave,' he said. 'The finest cheese, from Rhûn. The finest pepperoni from Haradwaith. All imported for The Great Lord Sauron's trusted lieutenant.'

He ate another piece with obvious relish. Peg tried to ignore his stomach. Everyone knew that the Mouth was a formidable epicure and had an infatuation with torture of all types.

'I bring a message for Lord Sauron,' said Peg.

The Mouth smiled broadly. 'Give it to me' he said. Peg did so. The Mouth read it over and thought and read it over again and thought some more. Then, he carefully closed up his pizza box, tucked it under his arm, and went to the door.

'I will read this to our Master,' he said, smiling cheerfully. 'Remain here. It may be he will send an answer.'

Peg watched as he left the room, and then looked around him.

The room was decorated with many dark devices for inflicting pain, and many stones, jewels, and pieces of jewellery that must have possessed deep magic. There was a great round stone on a small table in the very centre of the room, and when Peg looked at it he thought he saw another tall tower with great trees beyond it. But he grew disinterested with that and went on in his inspection of the place wherein he had found himself.

There was a single window high up in the wall, barred tightly. Peg saw it now that his eyes were adjusted, and he wondered what the view was like. He climbed up on the table where the Mouth had been sitting not long before and reached for the window. The wall was smooth, but Peg was used to climbing cliffs and he found slight cracks in the stone that helped him. His hand reached the latch of the shutter, and he tugged at the covering. Then, the shutters came open and he looked out.

But here he was surprised. The window was on the wrong side of the wall, and did not look out over Mordor but looked across the summit of the Tower, _where stood the Eye_!

For just a split second the Eye didn't notice him. It was looking at the Mouth, who had come up on top and was speaking to it. But all of a sudden it looked over.

'Rah!' said the Eye.

Peg screamed and fell away from the window. His fall was broken by the table, and everything on it rattled and then fell with a crash as he smashed through the wood.

He reached the floor and a shower of gold and jewels came down upon him. There had been a chest resting on the table, and it had been upset. It threw its contents into the air and they continued to fall for several seconds. When at last it was silent and still again, Peg looked around.

The room was quite a mess. He muttered to himself as he scrambled out of the pile of treasure and roughly began scooping it up and throwing it back into the chest. This was a fine state of things!

It took him but a few minutes to clean off the floor, but the table would never be the same again, and sapphires and coins were still falling out of his armour every time he moved. He shook himself, picked up everything that fell out, and tried to make sure it all at least _looked_ normal. He stood back, satisfied with his work, and heard the door open.

The Mouth strode in.

'Word has it that you are a good runner, snaga,' he said.

Peg turned a little pink and dropped his chin shyly.

'I want you to go to Isengard,' said the Mouth, 'and take this message to Saruman the White.'

Peg took the paper handed him and tried to find somewhere to put it.

'Run quickly,' said the Mouth. 'And avoid elves and men who would destroy you as they would a fly upon the wall.'

Peg nodded, and stuffed the parchment into his helmet.

'Until you come back, of course,' grinned the Mouth. 'Then you can encounter as many as you like, because we won't need you anymore. I wonder how much pain one so small could endure?'

Peg moved towards the door.

'Go!' said the Mouth, determined to get in a last word. He was a rather talkative fellow.

Peg went.

Down a hundred flights. Down two hundred. Down three hundred, and across the courtyard of Barad-Dûr. The troll opened the door for him, and he waved to the Uruk-hai as he went out.

Outside the gate, he paused, and looked north toward the Black Gate. That was his way out. Isengard wasn't far. He could be back in a day or two, even if he took it easy.

He jumped suddenly as a body appeared. There were a pair of barrels standing outside the gate, and Gwigolla had just jumped out of one.

She snorted a hello.

'What are you doing here?' demanded Peg. 'You're supposed to be at Dwardof.'

'Oh, no,' said Gwigolla. 'We're moving out. This very day. Towards Isengard.'

'That's where I'm going!' said Peg.

'Of course you are,' said Gwigolla. 'I came to get you. The armies are assembling and heading toward the Gate now. Come on.'

Peg began to follow her, but he tripped over a stone and sprawled headlong. He paused as he heard a strange _plink, kerplunk, kerplink_ and saw something shiny and round bouncing away from him down the hill. Gwigolla dove after it, caught it and held it up. Peg rose to his feet and looked at it.

'Drop this?' asked the she-orc, and tossed it to him. 'Let's go.'

And she bounded away northwards.

Peg looked at the round gold ring in his hand. It was very simple, a bit too large for any of his fingers, but very light and strangely beautiful. He stroked it, then took off his helmet, dropped it inside, and clamped it on again.

It was probably some of the treasure that had caught in his clothes at the top of the Tower. But he wasn't going all the way up those stairs just to take it back. The Mouth of Sauron would think he had stolen it on purpose, and they obviously had enough of the rest to go around.

Besides, it was pretty. And he wanted it.

He set off towards the Black Gate and soon caught up with Gwigolla.


	3. Escape From Mordor

Chapter Three

Escape From Mordor

The Witch-King came down at noon.

Peg and Gwigolla had joined a company at Dwardof and set off at a good pace towards the Black Gate. There were actually only about two hundred of them together, as the others had moved on already. The last group had been unavoidably delayed, of which circumstance Gwigolla had taken advantage when she went to find Peg.

Dron, Kyrnakh and Defmog had moved on with another group towards Osgiliath, but as Gwigolla had said, the last company was setting off towards Isengard, and they seemed to be actually hurrying. Peg had feared to be tied down by such a crowd, as he always ran faster alone, but the heavy-set Uruk-hai in the back was plying the whip enthusiastically, and they were actually making good headway.

Until the Witch-King came.

He came at the head of another body of orcs, from the south towards Minas Morgul. Peg had seen them approaching for some time before they actually drew near, but since so many bands were moving that day, neither he nor anyone else thought anything of it.

But as the other orcs drew close, and the stale air of Mordor suddenly brought to his ears the clashing sound not of travelling, but of attack, Peg knew something was off. He looked at Gwigolla, and saw confusion on her face. The Uruk-hai looked over his shoulder several times, wonderingly.

But they kept moving onward, this time a little faster, drawing closer and closer to the Gate.

The Witch-King and his horde were faster, and in a few minutes they were bearing straight down upon them.

All of Peg's company were now looking over their shoulders, snarling and snorting. Peg turned as he ran and saw the host but metres away. Their eyes were wide and angry. The Witch-King was black, huge, and dangerous.

And then the orcs behind began swinging their swords.

The Uruk-hai fell immediately, and the Witch-King's host came on, striking at the hindermost ranks of Peg's company. They began to fall, and the attackers kept moving right over them. Suddenly, the bare fields of Mordor had become a battleground.

'What is it?' hissed Gwigolla. 'Why? Is it allowed?'

'Run away!' cried Peg. 'They will kill us all. Run!'

Gwigolla froze in hesitation. They had all turned around and the orcs behind them were beginning to pull out their swords, ready to defend themselves. But there was no defence against the Witch-King. He would have his way.

Rank after rank before them was falling. Peg shoved at Gwigolla, and realised he was making most horrible noises in his fear.

And suddenly there was a great orc before, wielding a giant scimitar. He swung at Gwigolla, and, with an orc-scream, Peg jumped forward. The blade slashed him across the chest and he flew off screen, to land among the rocks some metres away. For a moment everything was noise and giddiness and blinding pain. He tried to struggle to his feet, but he couldn't do it. He raised himself on the palms of his hands and hung his head down between his arms, trying to clear his head of the pain and the sickness and the smell of blood. There was screaming and clashing and chaos nearby, but he could not focus on it. His helmet had fallen off beside him, but he could not lift it. He dragged himself forward on his palms until the noise seemed to die down and he could sense the safety of rocks around him. And then he lay down and looked out between two boulders, and he saw a terrible sight.

His company was gone. All that had been travelling with him lay on the ground in various attitudes of prostration. They were dead, and the orcs that had attacked were putting up their blades and moving backwards as the Witch-King advanced. He moved over the dead orcs, restlessly, searchingly, stooping low, and then he rose to his full height and looked all around. Peg shrank very small and hid his eyes. Then, suddenly, the Witch-King let loose a horrifying scream, jumped on his horse, and sped forward toward the gate. The live orcs followed him, and soon they were all gone.

Peg lay for a time amidst the rocks and shivered. Besides the deep cut across his chest, he had smashed his head against a rock and had torn a slash in his ear. He felt terrible, as if he should be dead but for some reason wasn't. He knew he simply couldn't go anywhere, but he raised himself to his feet and came out from behind the rocks. He wanted to look again and see if there was any sign of life from his recent companions. As he stumbled out his toe bumped his helmet. He reached down for it, and looked into it. The paper the Mouth had given him was still there, and on top of it lay that shiny gold ring he had found just that morning. He reached in and picked up the ring, and suddenly something strange happened.

He didn't feel weak any more. In fact, he felt very strong, and though the pain was still there, he felt as if he wasn't even wounded. What a strange thing!

He balanced the ring in his hand, and then decided. It might fall out if his helmet fell off again. He would find a better place to put it. He took a thread from his shirt, put the ring in his torn ear, and sewed it carefully up. Now it wouldn't get lost. It was such a pretty thing, he'd hate for that to happen.

He rose to his feet and clamped his helmet on. The Gate was not far, and now that he was alone, he could make it much faster. He looked one last time at his erstwhile companions. But this was life. The life of an orc.

He thought just a moment about Gwigolla. But no, he would not look for her. He didn't want to see her, to see her – dead.

He ran his hand under his nose and faced north, lifting his chin. Once more he started running.

He made the Gate half an hour later. It was only opened every hour, so there was a great multitude gathered behind it waiting for it to let them out into the world of men. Peg joined the crowd and trotted through it, waving to a few orcs he knew. Nobody thought anything of the fact that he was very bloody and dirty. That was how most orcs were all the time. But as he moved through the masses he suddenly heard two orcs talking together, and what they said made him pause and listen.

'We killed them all, I tell you,' said the one, 'but ve Witch-King was terrible put out. 'E said we 'ad gone and missed the right one.'

'Who were you looking for?' asked the other.

'Some scrawny tyke carrying a gold ring,' said the one. 'I says, what would a snaga be doing wiv a ring? But vat's what 'e said. Said 'e stole it from the Tower, 'e said.'

Peg shrank away and pushed through the crowd until he was standing just before the giant black doors. He sat down in their shade and looked back over the land of Mordor.

He could just make out a speck against the mountains that was Dwardof. He could see the great smoking furnace of Mount Doom, and there, there was Barad-Dûr –

He gave a little start when he saw Barad-Dûr. It was tall and evil as always, and the flaming Eye above it was looking out as usual, but this time it was looking directly at him.

'Rah!' said the Eye.

He shrieked like a mouse, and tumbled backwards as the Gate began to swing open. He squeezed out as soon as there was enough room and went running across the barren waste, not east towards Isengard, but northeast to he knew not where.

And he didn't really care.


	4. Trolo Sackville

Chapter Four

Trolo Sackville

Peg had been over a lot of Middle-Earth, or so he thought. But he didn't know the north as well as the west. He had a third cousin who lived in Moria, but he rarely visited him. It was said that the Balrog who lived nearby wasn't very kindly to visitors.

He wondered if he should head that way now. It was somewhere. And not Isengard. There were many orcs on the road to Isengard, and if the Witch-King were to descend again, he might kill more of them.

There were always more orcs, in the Witch-King's view.

But then, of course, there was Khamûl, the Witch-King's lieutenant, at Dol-Guldur. Peg wasn't so very eager to meet him. But he could stay away from Mirkwood easily enough. He would keep well to the west of it.

The world was brilliant outside Mordor, in the brightness of the early afternoon sun. Pegrun was running fast, and was already due north of the Dead Marshes, which he had carefully bypassed. He passed many companies of orcs at a distance, but none of them paid him any more attention than to look at him through a telescope. They were used to runners, and Peg was obviously an orc.

By evening Peg was feeling safer. The sun was going down beyond Mordor, and he had entered Emyn Muil. The crags stretched up around him and he felt their safety. He had always been comfortable among rocks, where a small creature like him could easily slide into a crevice and go unseen.

He sat down as the sun sank and thought about his stomach for the second time that day. He hadn't had breakfast or lunch and there seemed no chance of supper – but oh, well. He was used to short rations. It was part of orc life. He sat on a rock and looked back the way he had come.

Then he felt the ring in his ear. It was warm and smooth. How very nice of Lord Sauron – or his Mouth, whichever it had been – to send the Witch-King to kill him for it. He hadn't meant to take it, really. He just hadn't meant to take it back, which was almost the same thing, but which he conveniently forgot.

Besides, why should Sauron have it? It was his, he had found it, nice pretty ring. Nasty Lord Sauron to send –

Peg stifled a scream and dove behind a boulder. He had distinctly heard it – the pound of hoof beats – and there, very clearly, coming through the Emyn Muil, was a large, dark figure crouching over a horse.

Nazgûl! But it didn't look like the Witch-King. No, it wasn't. It was one of the others. Peg wasn't quite relieved by this realisation. Any Nazgûl was a bad Nazgûl. And this was definitely looking for him. Peg could feel it. He crouched behind his boulder and shivered uncontrollably.

The rider came closer, very slowly and deliberately, leaning to left and right, looking for him. It was within metres now, facing him. He dared not look at it, for fear he would suddenly see it leap forward, with its great fearsome sword flashing. He staid frozen to his place with his eyes screwed shut.

He heard the horse beside him, heard it snort, and tried to hold in the scream that bubbled to his throat. But he couldn't, it erupted against his will and echoed into the night.

'Aaaaaaaaah!'

The horse jumped. The rider jumped, and he too let forth a howl. And suddenly they were both gone, galloping away in terror between the hills. Peg watched them go and drew a sigh of relief. That had been close!

He moved on. He didn't need to sleep, and he could see well in the dark. Besides, sleep would only make him think of what he could be eating, and there would be nothing to eat for a long time yet.

Night wore on. Birds of darkness whistled in the rocks. An animal with glowing eyes slunk across his path once or twice, but he did not molest them. They walked in silence and in secret and they were dangerous.

He went on over the rocks and around the rocks and between the rocks and occasionally under them. And the world was dark and the sky was black and only a single faint star glowed anywhere, and it was far away.

He was alone. In the vast space that now lay around him - the barren Brown Lands to the north, the empty plain of the Dagorlad to the east, or the wide grassy void of the Eastemnet to the west – there was no one who even cared he existed. Except perhaps that Nazgûl, and Peg would rather be without that.

Nobody. Nobody but a single orc, who was suddenly being pursued by screaming Black Riders because he had happened to find a circle of gold.

He sniffed, and stuck his chest out. No big deal. Life. Orc-life.

He ran.

And ran.

And the night went on.

An owl hooted.

He left the Emyn Muil and entered the Brown Lands. He was now going due north on the east bank of the Anduin, and he could always hear the river running beside him. It at least seemed like some sort of company. But he could not see it and it murmured to itself as if it, too, couldn't care less about a small orc with a snub nose who was running for his life.

His chest hurt terribly, but he ignored it. It was strange, that such a heavy blow had not killed him. He was a very little orc, and he had never been struck in that way before. It really should have gone deeper. But perhaps it was because he was so small and bounced so well that he escaped. Nazgûls were blind as bats, but if he had been under the Witch-King's nose, he probably would have been noticed.

Pad, pad, pad, pad, went his orc-feet on the dry, bare ground of the Brown Lands. Ripple, ripple, went the waters of the Anduin.

And there was a glow on the horizon and the dawn came up.

Slowly the sun stretched itself and decided to wake, and suddenly it had leaped up into the sky and filled all the barren brown world with morning light. Peg looked around, but there wasn't much to see. Only the blankness of the Brown Lands on every side.

But no! Peg looked carefully and saw, a good ways away, a curl of smoke rising out of the waste. It was a very small curl of smoke, but he could already catch on the air the scent of something cooking and – what was that? Another scent, one he had never smelled before and couldn't quite understand.

But it there was something to eat he might as well get closer. He turned a little to his right and ran towards the smoke.

He was now in the South Undeep, still on the east bank of Anduin, but he hadn't seen a living creature all morning. The world he had entered was an empty one where no one dwelt and few travelled. That was almost a good thing for him, but he wondered if the shape he could now make out hunched over a fire was at all friendly. He slowed and approached cautiously.

There was absolutely no cover, and he should have been easily detected if the creature by the fire had not been turned away from him. It was a small creature, smaller than a man, with a lot of curly hair on top of its head and two enormous hairy feet, which it had tucked under itself. It was stirring a pot over the fire and singing to itself.

'Lololololoooooooo! La la-laaaaaah, la la laah, lol, lala.'

'Well,' thought Peg to himself. 'This is something. I wonder if it is one of those bobbits? And I wonder if it is quite safe?'

He reached for his sword, just to feel it was there, but as he did so his armour clanked. The creature by the fire, which was very close now, did a sudden flip over the flames and faced Peg with a cry, a gleaming blade suddenly in his hand.

'Our hero, with a cry of Stand Down, jumped to face the intruder!' cried the creature.

'Oh,' cried Peg, and fell back.

'Orc! Our hero cried,' said the creature. 'State your intentions, whether good or ill? Speak, or I eviscerate.'

Peg turned and was about to make a dash for it, when the creature called after him.

'As the visitor made an attempt to flee, our hero cried after it. Hold! I mean no harm! '

His voice was less threatening now. Indeed, it began to sound rather small and cheerful.

Peg turned back. He and the other creature faced each other.

'You are an orc?' said the strange one with big feet, looking up and down him. 'You are awfully short.'

Peg nodded. 'Are you a bobbit?'

'Hobbit, last I checked,' said the other. He flopped to the ground and began stirring his pot again. 'Whence come you?'

'Mordor.'

'Fascinating. Where are you going?'

'Moria, I suppose. I don't really know.'

The hobbit beckoned him closer, and Peg drew near hesitantly. Suddenly he found a wooden dish sailing through the air at him. He caught it and surveyed it with confusion.

'Sit down,' said the hobbit. 'And let us sup. With which statement our hero dished out his newest creation.'

'What is it?' asked Peg, eyeing the brown matter which the hobbit had given him.

'The roots of Brown Land grass,' shrugged the hobbit. 'Whatever I could find.'

'Will it kill me?' asked Peg. The hobbit looked indignant. Then he began eating himself.

'Maybe,' he said. 'Although I pride myself on the ability to make anything out of anything.'

Peg ate.

'Our hero then began to ply the small orc with questions,' said the hobbit. 'Why are you going to Moria?'

'I have a relative there,' said Peg. 'But I really don't know where else to go.'

'Why go anywhere?' asked the hobbit. 'Why not just wander, like me?'

'Well, I would,' said Peg. 'Except that there's a Nazgûl chasing me. Several of them, for all I know.'

The hobbit clicked his tongue. 'Inconvenient.'

'Do you just wander?' asked Peg.

'Yes,' said the hobbit. 'Have been wandering for years. It's all I ever want to do. I've been as far as the sea of Rhûn in the east and as far as the Blue Mountains in the west. There is much more to see, however. I still haven't seen Mordor. Tell me what it's like?'

'Black,' said Peg, slowly. 'And – brown.'

'Hmm,' said the hobbit. 'Well, someday. Tell me, have you a name?'

'Pegrun.'

'I am Trolo, Trolo Sackville, of Michel Delving, Westfarthing, Shire, and more recently of the Wide, Wide World. And you are Pegrun of Mordor. Surely you don't really want to go to Moria? Boring old place, really. Been there myself and didn't like it much. Have some more stew.'

'I don't really _want_ to go,' said Peg. 'But where else? I mean, they're still chasing me.'

'The Nazgûl?' asked Trolo. 'What are they after you for?'

'Um,' said Peg.

'That's all right,' said Trolo. 'They're after me, too. I had one come by asking me the way to the Shire and I told him to go due south. He didn't like that. He tried to stab me but I fought him off. So you see I'm not very scared of them. Why don't we go off into the sunset together? I mean, you know, the two of us could get along all right, what with you looking like a bad guy and me looking like a good guy – no offence. I'm always having to fight orcs off. Maybe you could talk to them. Parley, and all that.'

'Well,' said Peg. 'Maybe. Where are you going?'

'Everywhere,' said Trolo. 'But currently I'm on my way north towards the Grey Mountains to see what's over there.'

'I've always wanted to go all the way north,' admitted Peg.

'See!' said Trolo. 'We'll go together! What say you?'

'All right,' said Peg.

'Our hero and his new companion shook on it,' said Trolo, 'and put out their fire. Are you a fast traveller, Mr Pegrun Orc? Because I am.'

'Oh, very fast,' said Peg.

Trolo was packing up. He wiped his pot with dried grass, and slung it on his pack, which he then slipped onto his back. It was a large pack for a small hobbit.

'Shall I carry something?' suggested Peg.

'No, no,' said Trolo. 'I wouldn't let anyone else carry my book for the world. I'm writing a book, you see, and I don't want any of the pages lost. Our hero started forward northwards with his companion by his side.'

'How many pages have you got?' asked Peg.

'Forty thousand, two hundred and fifty-seven,' said Trolo. 'Only the last one is only half-full. I will fill it up tonight. I always stop at night and write my adventures of the day. Unless it's something very exciting, and then I write it while it's happening, so as not to miss a detail.'

They went walking northwards. Trolo was a very good walker, and didn't slow Peg down much. Besides, all of a sudden Peg didn't really care where he was going, so there was no point hurrying to get there. And if the Nazgûl caught them up, this small hobbit hero would fight him off.

What a funny race these hobbits were!

Very odd.


	5. What Happened in Mirkwood

Chapter Five

What Happened in Mirkwood

They wandered throughout that day. Trolo told Peg tales of his adventures, of his fights with other orcs, of his escapades with dwarves, of his journeys and of his meals.

'No doubt you have been to Rohan and Gondor,' said Peg.

'I have,' admitted Trolo. 'But I don't stay long in such places. They are full of Men.'

'Are hobbits hunted by men as well?' asked Peg.

'No,' said Trolo. 'It's much worse. I don't think you could understand, really. But the Big People and I don't get along very well.'

'Me neither,' said Peg.

They travelled across the morning, and near noon they saw a green mist to their right.

'It's Mirkwood,' said Trolo. 'If we go that way I can find something to eat for lunch.'

'Oh,' said Peg hesitantly. 'Just so long as we don't go near Dol-Guldur.'

'We won't even go into the forest,' said Trolo. 'Just find some bark or something. Let's hurry. I'm getting very hungry.'

This was something Peg was to notice as they travelled together. Trolo was always hungry, when Peg was quite satisfied.

But they hurried right towards Mirkwood.

It was a dark, green, growing place, full of the scent of deep earth and leaves. Trolo gathered some of the latter, and even a little of the former, and also some mushrooms, over which he danced like a dragon over treasure.

'Mushrooms!' he chortled.

'I didn't know you could eat those,' said Peg.

'My dear companion,' said Trolo, 'when Trolo Sackville cooks, you can eat _anything_.'

He was still gathering flora when Peg lifted his nose and snorted. Trolo looked up.

'What is it?' he asked.

Peg sniffed the air.

'Elf-flesh,' he snarled, and shrank smaller. 'Coming this way. Several, I think.'

'Oh, dear,' said Trolo. 'Our hero wished nothing more than to avoid a meeting with the quote, fair, unquote folk. He therefore left his occupation and scrambled into a tree.'

Peg did the same, and they sat together on a branch looking around and listening. And suddenly they did hear a scuffling and noise in the brush coming their way.

'It isn't an elf,' whispered Trolo. 'It's making too much noise.'

'It's too small,' agreed Peg. 'What do you think –'

But just then it showed itself. A small, pale creature with large eyes and very little clothes on, crawling across the ground on hands and feet, very quickly indeed, and snarling to itself.

'My Precious!'

'What do you think it is?' asked Trolo, with raised eyebrows. 'Is it an orc?'

'No,' said Peg. 'But – look!'

They saw the elves now, some ways away, coming towards them. Their golden hair fluttered in the wind, and it was a miracle that they were not caught up in the tree branches. There were three or four of them, all flaxen-haired and pale and carrying bows and swords.

'They're chasing him,' said Trolo, which was obvious.

Peg looked down at the creature, who had stopped to look back and was still muttering to himself. He looked very frightened and very unhappy.

Suddenly, Peg began to slip off the branch.

'Where are you going?' demanded Trolo. 'The elves will see you!'

'Yes,' said Peg. 'Exactly. I will lead them off, and they will think I am the other – thing.' He took off his helmet and other armour and then slipped down the tree trunk.

'This is a bad life choice,' said Trolo. 'I'm beginning to seriously doubt your sanity. But as our companion would not listen, our hero fell silent and watched what would take place.'

Peg dropped down into the underbrush. The elves had paused and were looking for tracks in the soil. The muttering creature was not far away, and he turned like lightning as Peg fell and sprang upon him.

For a moment they scuffled.

'Orcses!' cried the mutterer. 'Orcses chase us like the elveses! Nasty elveses to lock us up and keep us from the Precious!'

'No, no,' said Peg, hissing in his effort to be quiet. 'Run away, and I will distract the elves!'

The mutterer's eyes grew wide.

'A diversion?'

'A diversion!' said Peg.

Like a flash, the mutterer was gone. Peg peeped out over the ferns. The elves were straightening up. He snarled, and rustled the leaves. The elves looked his direction, and he ducked.

'There is a movement in the undergrowth,' said one of the elves, a tall blond with a fair face and perfect complexion. He wrinkled his brows. 'I think it may be our quarry.'

'Then let us after it,' suggested another.

The first elf smiled and started forward.

Not far away, Peg smiled, too. He darted away, making noises in the ferns and muttering to himself.

'The Precocious! The Prescience! The Presence! The Precarious! The Precaution!' He couldn't remember exactly what word the mutterer had used, but he supposed it didn't matter much.

And then he began to realise that he had made a mistake. Arrows were beginning to fly, and as he began to turn this way and that, there seemed to be an elf everywhere. Somehow, they had managed to box him in. They drew nearer and nearer, and he realised that they now knew where he was. And suddenly he popped out of the brush and looked around, and all four of them surrounded him, two with arrows poised, two with swords.

'Good Elbereth,' said one. 'It's an orc!'

He was also tall, but a dirty blond, and he had a soul patch on his chin. This was odd. Peg had never seen an elf with any hair on his face, except very dark eyebrows. This one must have been male, but – he looked around at the others. There was no saying about them.

'Slay it, Calendul,' said another elf, to the one who swore by Elbereth.

'Your Highness,' said another, 'are you sure we have been pursuing the right creature?'

'I know not,' said the one with the prettiest face. 'But I do know that the tracks we found were that of Gollum, and not of any orc.'

'So we have lost him,' said Calendul.

'Gandalf will kill you for this, Legolas,' said one of the others, to the pretty one.

'Slay it, Calendul,' repeated the one who had advised this course of action already.

'No,' said Legolas. 'There is more the orc can tell us. We will take it to my father.'

'Your father will kill it, Your Highness,' said the one who liked slaying. 'Might as well do it here.'

'You Shall Not Touch Him!' cried a voice from above, and Trolo Sackville fell out of the trees, brandishing his sword aloft. He landed before Peg and swung his blade. 'Back, elven folk, or I eviscerate!'

'Good Elbereth,' said Calendul. 'It's a Halfling!'

Trolo turned red and drew himself up. 'And none of you are man enough to fight me,' he said. 'I challenge any of you to lay a hand on my companion, and you will pay with your life.'

'Who are you, Halfling, and what are you doing in Mirkwood?' asked one of the elves.

'I am no Halfling,' snorted Trolo. 'You are a Doubling, if it comes to that. And I am in Mirkwood to prevent a friend's slaughter at your hands.'

'Well, then, tell us what the orc is doing here?'

'He was distracting you from slaughtering something else.'

'The orc helped Gollum escape!' said one elf. 'They are enemies and allies of Mordor! Kill them both!'

'No,' said Legolas. 'I have no quarrel with Halflings. We will take them to Lothlorien. There, my father and the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn will hold counsel.'

'Touch me,' said Trolo, 'and you will have a blade in you!'

Legolas raised an arrow. 'Don't think I won't kill you, hobbit,' he said. 'Tie them, Calendul.'

And so Peg and Trolo were bound and led away from Mirkwood toward the forest in the west.

Lothlorien. Peg knew of it. He tried to ask Trolo about it, but the elves ordered him to be silent. Trolo looked far from happy and very annoyed. Peg feared that there must be something very terrible indeed in Lothlorien to make him look so glum.

The forest stretched up before them and Peg swallowed hard.


	6. The Ill-Fated Dwarf

Chapter Six

The Ill-Fated Dwarf

Caras Galadhon, Lord Celeborn's palace in Lothlorien, would have been a nice place to visit if you weren't taken there as a prisoner. But when Peg, after a long walk blindfolded, was led into one of its courts and had his eyes uncovered, he could only think of how very uncomfortable it was to be surrounded on all sides by blond elves and how comforting it was to have the curly-headed, big-footed Trolo by his side.

Trolo had been making muttered protests most of the way, and now that he had his eyes to use again, was now redoubling his efforts, straining very hard at his bonds and speaking to an elf with a spiky crown who stood before them in a far from respectful tone of voice. It was a very spiky crown, rather like he had gotten a lot of arrows or tree branches stuck in his head.

'I demand an explanation and an apology for this,' Trolo said. 'And when it is had, I shall probably not accept it. This is no way to treat a free hobbit of the Wide, Wide World, let alone the Shire. To say nothing of the orc. I know you don't like them in general, but I can personally vouch for Master Pegrun's character.'

'Shut him off,' said the elf with the crown, and one of the elves clamped a hand over Trolo's mouth. Trolo continued to struggle and interject murmurs throughout the rest of the conversation. 'What are these creatures you have brought to Caras Galadhon, Legolas?' went on the crowned one.

Legolas, who had tight hold of Peg, bowed slightly.

'Gollum escaped, Dad,' he said. 'But this orc aided him, and this hobbit abetted the orc.'

Peg snarled a little, because Legolas was hurting him.

'Mmm!' said Trolo, indignantly, and kicked his captor.

The elf with the crown looked at both of them searchingly, then spoke.

'The hobbit shall be imprisoned to await our pleasure,' he said. 'Lord Celeborn will not object to keeping him in the dungeon here until we return to Mirkwood.'

'Mm-mm-mm!' said Trolo, which was as much to say, 'now look here!'

The elf-king ignored him. He turned toward Pegrun. 'The orc –' he began. Then he seemed to find words needless, and seizing the sword that Calendul held, he suddenly fell upon Peg and sliced off his head.

Three things happened at the same time. Calendul's jaw dropped, Trolo struggled violently with a painful cry of 'NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!' that was still intelligible even though it was muffled, and, perhaps most noticeable of all, Peg's head remained on his shoulders, and he continued blinking in horrified astonishment at the elf-king.

'Good Elbereth,' said Calendul, but for a moment that was all anyone said. The elf-king looked at the sword. It was bloody. Legolas gave Peg's head a tentative cuff, but it remained where it should have been (in Peg's opinion, at least).

And while they were all staring at each other and particularly at Peg, a white figure stepped into the room, and they all were distracted. It was a very tall figure in long pale robes, with wavy blonde hair and deep blue eyes. She was elegant and seemed to think that if she walked into the room it was the greatest thing that had happened since elves first came to Middle-Earth. Perhaps she was right.

'Thranduil,' she said, and went on to talk in some scary-sounding language that was very soft and somehow menacing.

The elf with the crown returned in the same language and looked with abhorrence upon Peg.

Peg looked at Trolo for help, but Trolo was still restrained from speech and only rolled his eyes as if to say

'Our hero was highly disgruntled with the state of affairs.'

Suddenly Peg looked around to find the she-elf coming towards him. She pointed at him and spoke to Legolas.

'What is that in his ear?' she asked.

Legolas shrugged. 'I know not, my lady. It may be an orc charm, or some extra part of his most abysmal anatomy.'

The elf with the soul patch stepped forward and grasped Peg by the ear. He surveyed the ring in it and then turned to the lady in white.

'This is no mere orc charm,' he said. 'It is ring of great value, maybe even – maybe even of Power.'

The lady was white enough as it was, but she went even whiter. She looked at the elf called Thranduil.

'One of the Rings of Power?' she said. 'We must tell Lord Celeborn. Calendula, put the orc and the hobbit in the prison.'

Calendul bowed and took hold of Peg as Legolas followed his father and the lady out of the room.

'Bring the Half—hobbit,' he said to the other elves, and dragged Peg out of the room.

They went down many staircases through the trees, past dining rooms and parlours and strange open courtyards, and finally down deep into the ground and down a tunnel lined on either side with heavy doors. Peg and the hobbit were both shoved through one of the doors and locked in. Then Calendul and his elven friends went away and left them alone.

Peg slumped into a corner and fingered his ring. He wouldn't let them take it away. No, no, not before they killed him. And it was beginning to be apparent that they couldn't kill him while he had it. He felt around his neck, but his head was still firmly attached to his body. It had hurt terribly when Thranduil had struck, but Peg wasn't dead. He snickered. He could defy these elves.

Trolo was pacing up and down the bare cell in his enormous feet and stamping.

'You see why I don't like the Big People,' he said. 'They shall still have to reckon with me.'

'Not much chance of that,' said a deep, gruff voice out of the darkness of the tunnel.

Trolo started and turned to the door of his cell. The tunnel was dim and the doors on the other side were hard to see, but the orc and hobbit could just make out a shape behind the door across from them.

'Who are you?' asked Trolo.

'Oort, son of Dori,' said the voice and the shape.

'You are a dwarf,' guessed Trolo.

'Aye,' returned the voice. 'But I said you won't get much chance to give these elves what they deserve. They'll keep you down here for the rest of your life and hand you food through the door and never give you the opportunity to even scratch at them. That's how it is.'

There was a thump as if he had sat down very heavily.

Peg crawled to the door and looked out.

'Why were you locked up here?' he asked.

'What the devil is that creature they brought with you?' asked the dwarf, apparently talking to Trolo.

'Um,' said Trolo. 'It's an orc. My companion.'

'Oh,' said Oort. 'I see. They locked you up as a loony.'

'No,' said Trolo. 'They locked us up because we helped some poor wretch in Mirkwood get away from some of them. And apparently because the orc has a ring in his ear.'

'A ring?' asked Oort, with sudden interest. 'An orc with a ring? Why didn't they kill him?'

'They tried,' said Trolo. 'It didn't work.'

'Ah!' said Oort, growing more and more intrigued. 'A loony with an orc friend and they have a ring. A ring that keeps elves from killing the bearer!'

'But why did they lock you up?' asked Peg.

'Does the thing have to talk?' asked Oort. 'They locked me up because I happened to take a fancy to some shiny things they have about here.'

'Oh,' said Trolo. 'You were stealing from them?'

'Stealing?' demanded Oort. 'Not exactly. It's just that I'm a kleptomaniac.'

'Serves them right,' grumbled Trolo.

Oort perked up.

'I agree,' he said. 'It serves them right.'

'Locking us up, I mean,' said Trolo. 'Just for helping out a fellow.'

'Yes,' said Oort. 'But that's elves for you.'

'Elves,' said Trolo. 'I dislike all people of Unnatural Height. Now you and I understand each other, don't we?'

'I don't understand what you're doing with an orc,' said Oort. 'But I understand your annoyance.'

Trolo nodded and shook the bars of his cage.

'If only we could get out,' he said. 'We'd fight a few of them and escape!'

Oort sighed.

'You'd never get out,' he said. 'Do you even know how you got here? You're lost.'

Trolo and Peg saw the truth of this.

'But,' said Oort. 'I do have an idea.'

'What?' asked Trolo.

'You're a hobbit. Elves always have had soft spots for hobbits.'

'They think we're some sort of circus act!' snorted Trolo.

'But,' said Oort, 'they don't have grudges against them, as they do us dwarves. So this is my idea. Listen carefully. These elves have very good ears, so I daren't talk too loud.'

'I can hear just as well as any elf.'

'I can hear better,' said Peg.

'Shut that orc up,' said Oort. 'He makes me ill.'

'Kindly save your comments, Pegrun Orc,' said Trolo. 'Go on, Oort son of Dori, most ill-fated dwarf, and speak. Our hero sat down and prepared to listen to the suggestion.'

He was obviously getting back on balance. He was beginning to talk like his book again.

'When they come down here,' said Oort. 'You beg for mercy.'

'What!' demanded Trolo, springing up. 'No! No, never!'

'Quiet,' said Oort. 'This is the only way it will work. You beg for mercy and promise to behave yourself if they let you out.'

'But I won't,' said Trolo. 'I'd most likely kill some of them in their sleep. Our hero was beginning to doubt the sanity of the dwarf.'

'But they won't know that!' said Oort. 'So you just have to say it and they'll probably believe it. Then, you steal the she-elf's ring.'

'Which one is the she-elf?' asked Trolo.

'The tall blond one,' said Peg.

'Thanks,' said Trolo. 'That helps. I find out which one is the most female, steal the ring, and then?'

'And then,' said Oort, 'we blackmail them. We say we won't give it back until they let us all go.'

Trolo thought about this. 'Sounds an excellent plan,' he said. 'But I don't like sucking up to elves.'

'It's better than staying here,' said Oort.

'I agree,' said Trolo. 'I'll do it.'

'But, Trolo,' said Peg.

'Shut that orc up,' said Oort.

'But, Trolo!' said Peg. There was something rather wrong about Oort's plan that Trolo obviously didn't see.

'No,' said Trolo. 'I think it will work. Why not?'

Peg just shook his head.

'I don't like it.'

'But you don't want them to try to slice your head off again?' asked Trolo. 'Or to take your earring?'

Peg succumbed. He didn't want them to take his ring.


	7. Rings of Power

Chapter Seven

Rings of Power

The elves came back within the hour, and Trolo, hearing them sneaking down the passage on their elf-feet, got ready with his speech. Peg could hear him muttering it to himself in the corner. But it proved unnecessary – for the moment.

The elves opened their door and seized both of them.

'You are to come before the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn,' said Calendula. 'You too, hobbit. And mind who you kick.'

'I'll behave,' said Trolo, meekly. But Peg saw the twinkle in his eye. Perhaps the elf did, as well, because he looked suspicious.

But they went back up the many stairs to a great, open hall where the white elf-lady, the elf-king Thranduil, and another blond elf were sitting in a row. Calendula stood behind the orc and hobbit, and since Trolo wasn't trying to talk, no one covered his mouth. Calendula gave them both a dig in the back and whispered.

'Bow before the Lady Galadriel.'

Trolo bowed in the general direction of the elves, presuming one of them was the Lady Galadriel, but Peg saw nothing in it for him and didn't bother.

'What is your name, Halfling?' asked the elf in white.

Trolo tried not to snort and managed to respond gracefully.

'Trolo Sackville, Your Honour.'

'I am the Lady Galadriel. You are from the Shire?'

'Originally.'

'You have travelled far and seen many things,' said Galadriel.

'I know,' said Trolo.

'I see no evil in you,' said the other elf, who must have been Lord Celeborn. 'Why are you in company with an orc?'

'Well, I didn't see any evil in him,' said Trolo, shrugging.

Galadriel's eyes widened, then she smiled patronisingly. 'Hobbits have hearts full of goodness but little wisdom,' she said. 'You must learn discernment, Master Sackville, between the evil things of this world and the good.'

Trolo said nothing.

'Now for the orc,' said Thranduil. He was obviously impatient. 'Lord Celeborn, I urge you to look upon the ring in his ear and declare, is it or is it not the ring which hitherto belonged to Thrain II of the dwarves?'

Celeborn drew closer to Peg and looked at the ring in his ear.

'It would seem so,' he said, slowly. 'But we knew that the Necromancer of Dol-Guldur obtained this ring, and how therefore could an orc be in possession of it, now that the Dark Lord has returned to Mordor?'

They could ask Peg, the orc reflected, but he didn't say it out loud. Apparently, they had forgotten he could talk.

Galadriel was looking far into the distance, like one hypnotised.

'It was taken from Mordor,' she said. 'The Dark Lord seeks it.'

The elves turned to her as to an oracle.

'If he were to regain control of it,' she went on, 'he would turn Durin's Folk against us, and against the Men of the West.'

She added the last as an afterthought, because the Men of the West didn't seem to matter much.

'We have not had dealings with the dwarves since the dark days,' said another elf who stood by.

'Great then would be the danger, should the Dark Lord regain this thing,' said Thranduil, gazing upon Peg as upon a fly.

'The ring must be destroyed,' said Legolas, who was standing near his father.

'Yes, son,' said Thranduil. 'Thank you for pointing that out.'

'But it can only be destroyed by dragon fire,' said Lord Celeborn.

'There are few dragons left in Middle-Earth,' said Galadriel.

'There are some,' said Calendula. 'But none knows where they are.'

Peg looked at the floor. Unfortunately, Galadriel saw it.

'You are wrong, Calendula,' she said. 'There is one among us who knows.'

Everyone looked at Peg, and he blushed.

'The orc shall speak,' said Lord Celeborn, seeming to assume that simply saying it would make it happen.

'Talk,' said Calendula, kicking Peg.

Peg found that Trolo was winking very obviously at him.

'There is a dragon in Mordor,' he admitted, in a snarly voice, because he was scared stiff.

'How can this be?' asked Galadriel. 'Why has the Dark Lord not used him against the peoples of Middle-Earth.'

'They don't get along very well,' said Peg. 'He lives in the Mountains of Shadow and keeps his own company. He neither aids nor receives aid. He walks alone.'

'Mordor,' murmured Galadriel. She looked at Celeborn and Thranduil. 'Legolas speaks aright. The ring must be destroyed.'

'But by whom?' asked Thranduil.

'This shall be discussed,' said Galadriel. 'Take the hobbit and the orc away.'

'Wait!' said Trolo, drawing away from those who held him and throwing himself on one knee. 'Fairest of all peoples, do not lock me up. I will not fight or get in the way. Don't put me back in the dark! Please, my lady!'

Galadriel smiled upon him. 'The hobbit has done no wrong,' she said. Apparently, Peg had. 'Yes, Master Trolo, you will not go back to the prison, but you shall not leave Caras Galadhon. If you set foot outside the gates, you shall be bound in chains. Haldir, take the orc away. And the hobbit must leave our secret meeting.'

Trolo and Peg were led out again, and Trolo touched Peg on the shoulder.

He winked, as if to say 'Our hero had everything completely under control. And then Peg was dragged back to the dungeon and left in the dark cell across from the dwarf who, seeing that Trolo was gone, didn't bother to talk to him.

Trolo came back down to the prison just before supper, and was put back next to Peg, but he wasn't in chains. For a while he simply fumed, but after half an hour he was able to answer the questions Oort and Peg plied him with.

He had tried to get at the ring. He hadn't been sure if Lady Galadriel was the she-elf Oort had mentioned, but when he discovered that Legolas was Thranduil's son, he supposed she was the next best bet. She had been in conference for hours, in fact she still was, and so he had wandered around Caras Galadhon looking around before he had encountered a stroke of luck.

In one of the bathrooms upstairs he had found it – the ring! He knew it must be the ring Oort was talking about because it was so shiny and beautiful, and he could feel the power of it when he touched it. The she-elf had taken it off while washing her hands, he supposed. So he had pocketed it.

But then he realised he had been double-crossed. Lady Galadriel had set elves to watch him while he wandered, and just after he found the ring they accosted him and dragged him back down to the counsel room, where Galadriel had been very angry. He had tried to 'blackmail' her, but Calendula, Legolas and Haldir had simply knocked him down and taken the ring away. Celeborn had sent him back down here and promised he would stay there until he had learned his lesson.

'That's what I'm wondering about,' said Trolo, grasping the bars of the door and glowering through them at Oort. 'They said I would learn my lesson like the dwarf. Are you the dwarf, and what exactly was it you were trying to steal before?'

Oort seemed to blush in the dark.

'Oh,' he said. 'I just thought this might be a good way of getting at it. I just have a weakness for rings.'

'Well,' said Peg, 'you should have seen it wouldn't work. I knew they would take it from you.'

'Why didn't you say so?' demanded Trolo.

'No one ever listens to me.'

'I am very angry at dwarves at present,' said Trolo. 'Is nobody in the Wide, Wide World trustable?'

'You can trust me,' said Peg.

'Yes,' said Trolo. 'Well.'

'Look,' said Oort. 'It was worth a try.'

'I suppose so,' said Trolo, grudgingly. 'But now we'll never get out of here.'

'Rather, I think you will, and rather sooner than you would wish.' Somebody had snuck up on them, and they all looked up to see Haldir.

'Where is the elf with the tuft of hair under his lip?' asked Trolo, as Haldir began unlocking their door. 'Don't tell me you're going to drag us up there all over again. This is getting to be a habit with you. Our hero felt most ill-used and unwilling to oblige.'

'You must oblige,' said Haldir, unlocking Oort's cell as well and hauling the dwarf out. 'Lady Galadriel has an offer for all three of you.'

Trolo and Peg took a chance to look at Oort. He was dwarf-sized, very heavy and very hairy, with a black beard and lots of tarnished armour. He carried a pack on his shoulder. It was the biggest pack Peg had ever seen. It doubled the dwarf's size.

'Come,' said Haldir. 'And you may be grateful of her goodness. She is willing to offer you grace.'

'Humph,' said Trolo. 'I don't trust her.'

'Neither do I,' whispered Oort. 'But we may as well go and have a fight for our trouble.'

'Aye!' said Trolo. 'Our hero would greatly enjoy that.'

They followed Haldir up the stairs once again.

Peg hoped they wouldn't have to climb those stairs again. He could easily get tired of stairs, having such short legs. Oort actually seemed to be enjoying the chance to stretch his limbs, and hummed a dwarf song to himself.

When they appeared for the third time before Galadriel they all knew that something either very dreadful or very fortunate was going to happen. The first thing they saw when they entered the room was Calendula, standing in the middle of the room, facing the three nobles. He looked a little scared but as if he was trying to hide it.

'Ah,' said Celeborn when dwarf, hobbit and orc entered. 'Bring that orc here.'

Peg was shoved forward into the middle of the room. He glanced shyly around.

'You spoke of a dragon,' said Galadriel. 'You know where he lives?'

Peg nodded.

'Could you lead someone there?' asked Celeborn.

Peg started.

'I don't know,' he said.

Thranduil interposed.

'We offer you your life,' he said, 'for what it's worth, if you agree to lead Calendula, son of Eminem, to the home of this dragon.'

Peg, Trolo and Oort all suddenly turned to stare at Calendula. The elf turned a little pink but looked proud and elegant.

'Hmm!' said Oort.

'He wants to take the ring?' asked Peg.

'He will destroy it,' said Celeborn.

Peg considered this. His beautiful ring! His precious!

'Promise?' he asked.

'You have our word,' said Celeborn.

'Fine,' said Peg.

Nobody bothered to thank him. Celeborn turned to Oort and Trolo.

'As for you, thieves,' he said. 'We have an offer for you. If you agree to accompany Calendula on his journey, you will be released. If not, you will remain in prison until the end of your lives. You both attempted to steal the great ring Nenya, and for this you should die, if we weren't more merciful. What do you choose?'

Trolo looked at Oort. Oort looked at Trolo.

'Why do you want to destroy this ring?' asked Oort. 'What is it?'

'I answer no questions,' said Celeborn. 'Do you agree or don't you?'

'We could do it all right without the elf,' said Trolo. 'Does he have to come along?'

'For that matter,' said Oort, 'do we have to take the orc?'

'ANSWER ME!' cried Celeborn.

'All right,' said Trolo. 'Our hero was quite put out but he answered with chivalry.'

'Very well,' said Oort. 'But you must return me my weapons. I refuse to set foot outside this palace without them.'

'They will be returned,' said Celeborn. 'Calendula, you will set out tomorrow morning. Withdraw these three,' he added, gesturing to Trolo, Peg and Oort. As soon as the three had left he rose from his throne and approached Calendula and laid a hand on his shoulder.

'Friend,' he said. 'See that you take care. The hobbit and the dwarf might cut your throat or save your life, and it is not in my power to know which. Hobbits are in general creatures of their word, but this one has proven to be something of a liar and a cheat. It may be he was urged by the dwarf. The dwarf you know to be a hopeless thief, but even in this he may prove useful to you. It is this kind of person who will not fear a journey through Mordor.'

'You did not tell them we would go through Mordor.'

'There is no need yet,' said Celeborn. 'I have reason to believe that they will keep their word in accompanying you, but if they do not, you know what you must do.'

Calendula nodded, and went out.


	8. Farewell to Lothlorien

Chapter Eight

Farewell to Lothlorien

The elves made a great fuss over Calendula's trip. They piled him with lembas, which Pegrun thought looked very nasty, and everyone patted him on the back or shook his hand.

Oort snorted at the sentimentality and surveyed his axe and knives lovingly.

'Elves are all this way,' he said. 'They're so unused to death they can't face danger.'

Trolo was not entranced by any of it and was more concerned with making sure the pages of his book were all in order. He had spent the previous evening recording in minute detail everything that had happened the previous day, including his meeting with Peg, their encounter with the creature Gollum, and everything that had passed between them and the elves. Peg had peered over his shoulder once or twice, and Trolo had reacted violently, chasing him away into a far corner and pointing out with vehemence that a writer could not be watched while he worked.

Finally Calendula was able to pull himself away from his long-haired friends and joined his three new companions in the outermost courtyard of Caras Galadhon. He looked sad and troubled.

'Prepare yourselves,' he said to them. 'We move out within the hour.'

'And about time, too,' snorted Oort. 'How long do you think we've been waiting here already?'

'Patience, friend dwarf,' said Calendula. 'But a moment longer. I must bid farewell to my lord and lady.'

'Why?' asked Peg.

'Silence that orc!' said Calendula. 'He talks too much.'

'For the first and probably last time in history,' said Oort, 'an elf agrees with a dwarf.'

Calendula gave him a look that was supposed to be significant. But nobody could take an elf with long blond hair seriously, even if he had a soul patch.

'By the way,' said Trolo. 'Why _do_ you have a tuft of hair above your chin?'

Calendula stroked a finger over it and turned pink. Since he was wearing a blue robe, he got across a fairly good impression of the Easter bunny, what with his ears and the strange combination of colours.

'It's my beard,' he said.

'Oh,' said Trolo. 'Have you ever really seen one of those things?'

Oort was doubling over with laughter. 'His beard!' he managed to get out after a long time. 'The elf with a beard!'

Calendula wrinkled his brows and looked a little angry. 'What?' he asked, in annoyance. 'It is not in the hobbit's power to grow one, either, so the humour does not strike me so heavily as it does you.'

Oort laughed harder.

'Why do you want to grow a beard?' asked Trolo. 'I thought elves couldn't.'

'So it is said,' said Calendula. 'But I don't see why I can't try. Did you not hear? There are rumours that Elrond of Rivendell actually shaves.'

'Shaves!' Oort was still overcome with hilarity. 'An elf shaving!'

'Do not make me angry, dwarf,' said Calendula, who already was.

Oort kept laughing, and even Trolo was smiling. Peg wasn't, but that's because he thought the elf might do something to him if he did.

Oort stroked his own beard proudly. 'His beard. His beard, by Mahal!'

'You try my temper sorely,' said Calendula. 'It strikes me to leave you behind.'

Oort grinned. 'It is your own beard, not mine,' he said. 'And it's quite evident even your elven friends don't think much of it.'

'It is not the elven custom to grow hair upon the face,' said Calendula.

'So why do you it?' asked Trolo.

'I am slightly different,' said Calendula, tilting his chin.

Oort went off into more gales of laughter and crumpled up in a corner. Calendula sulked for a while, and then plucked Trolo's arm and drew him away out of the dwarf's hearing.

'Listen, young Master hobbit,' he said. Trolo frowned.

'What?' he asked.

'You overheard what kind of ring this is which the orc has?'

'Yes,' said Trolo.

'You must not tell the dwarf.'

'Why not?' asked Trolo. 'I think he has as much right to know as any of us.'

'But if he knew,' said Calendula, urgently, 'he would refuse to destroy it. And of course, as my good friend says, the ring must be destroyed.'

'Well, I think it's jolly nice of you to make him come along and then destroy his ancestral property,' said Trolo.

'We are giving him his freedom,' said Calendula. 'It would only harm him to possess the ring. Sauron would seek him out and deal with him as he dealt with Thrain II, the old dwarf king. Do you know what end he met?'

Trolo shook his head.

'He was tormented until his mind gave way,' said Calendula. 'And when the Dark Lord took the ring away, he died in the throes of insanity. This is what will happen to our dwarf companion if he should come in possession of the ring.'

'Oh,' said Trolo. 'I see.'

'A hobbit's mind may be slow,' said Calendula, 'but his heart is good.'

Trolo frowned again.

'One other thing,' said Calendula. 'Do not trust that orc. You will endanger us all.'

Trolo raised his eyebrows. 'Our hero was highly offended. The orc hasn't done anything to you!'

'He is an orc,' said Calendula, with emphasis.

'So what?' demanded Trolo. 'I don't see what's so terrible about that. I don't see that it's much worse than being an elf.'

'You are far too innocent to understand the evils of this world,' began Calendula.

'And where do _you_ come off talking about me like that?' asked Trolo. 'Look here, our hero greatly dislikes being treated like a child. I won't have it. I am not innocent and I've seen more of this world than you have. So I refuse to let you talk to me as if I was born yesterday! You all do this. You and the Men. You're all quite annoying. Our hero was greatly vexed.'

And he turned away from Calendula and folded his arms.

'I have never,' said Calendula, talking now in a conciliatory manner, 'in my life – which is now almost fifteen hundred years – known an orc who was not wholly evil. They are the brood of Morgoth and are inherently wicked and foul.'

'I doubt you ever knew any orcs,' said Trolo, stiffly. 'I doubt you ever got closer than a bow-shot, or the hilt of your sword. You don't know orcs. You only kill them.'

'And you believe that you do know them?' asked Calendula.

'Pegrun is all right,' said Trolo.

'How long have you been in company?' asked Calendula.

'A day,' said Trolo.

'And, witness, you know nothing of him,' said Calendula. 'He likely joined with you intending to eat you when the rations ran out. I have known orcs to do this to unwitting victims. He might have killed you in your sleep.'

Trolo's eyes grew wide. Calendula laid a hand on his shoulder.

'You have been favoured by the stars,' he said, 'to have fallen in with us.'

'I wouldn't taste very good,' said Trolo, casually, shrugging him off. 'The fellow doesn't know a thing about cooking.'

And he walked pointedly across the room.

It was then that Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn entered. They swept silently into the room and Galadriel held her hand out to Calendula.

'Come hither, Calendula Eminemion, and receive our blessing upon your journey.'

'Not more of this,' muttered Trolo. 'I'd thought they were done.'

Calendula heard and gave him a look before bowing to the lady.

'Elbereth Gilthoniel go with you,' said Galadriel, 'and return you safely to the leaves of Lothlorien.'

Calendula started crying. Trolo looked at Oort in dismay, only to see that the dwarf was shuffling forward respectfully.

'O fairest of all,' said Oort, 'but bless me also!'

He threw himself on his knees, to Trolo's horror. Had the dwarf gone mad?

Galadriel looked slightly startled, but she smiled benignly.

'What blessing do you ask, Oort son of Dori?' she asked.

'Nay,' said Oort. 'I must not ask a blessing of such beautiful lips. But let me kiss your hand and I shall feel as if all the world has been given me.'

Trolo felt positively sick. He looked at Peg for companionship and Peg gave him a wink.

'You may kiss my hand,' said Galadriel, not even blushing. She stretched it out to him and turned her face gracefully away as his rough beard brushed it. 'And now,' she said, 'weep no more, Calendula, for your journey shall be prosperous and the service you do your world will live forever in our memories. Go, and let the stars speed you.'

Calendula rubbed his nose on his sleeve, rose, and strode to the door. Oort hoisted his pack to his shoulder and left without another look at Galadriel. Trolo staggered out after him, and Calendula seized Peg by the scruff of the neck and dragged him into the forest.

As they left the trees half an hour later Calendula looked back at his home and sniffed.

'Shut up,' said Oort. 'And let's go!'


End file.
